


With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 1)

by rubyelf



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of Rubyelf's Ruby-Verse AU.

Title: With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 1)  
Author: RubyElf  
Pairing: A/B  
Rating: probably NC-17  
Summary: A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir  
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. Tolkien would be appalled.

This turned out quite long and I'm still tinkering so I think I'll post it in a few parts.

 

“Busy little creatures,” Aragorn said, watching Merry and Pippin darting off toward the woods as the others cleaned up the campsite after dinner.

“Every chance they get,” Boromir agreed, chuckling. “I suppose that’s why they’re always in such an excellent mood. They’re the only ones among us enjoying themselves.”

“Hobbits seem to be good at that,” Aragorn said, leaning back against a rock and lighting his pipe. Boromir caught the now-familiar scent and inhaled deeply; it was Aragorn’s smell, and he doubted he would ever smell is again without thinking of the dark-haired, leather-clad ranger.

“Do you suppose they’ve got girls waiting for them at home?” Boromir asked.

“I’d expect so. They’re both from good families, especially the littler one, and they’re both handsome lads as hobbits go.”

“What if the girls were to know about…”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure some of them would be scandalized. But you’d be surprised… some of them might find the idea… stimulating.”

“The idea… of two lads? Together?”

Aragorn took a puff from his pipe. “You’ve never heard men tell stories about two women together?”

“Well, yes, but they’re usually looking to get into the middle of it.”

Aragorn grinned. “You think there aren’t any girls that would like to be in between the two of them? I can just imagine what they’d do.”

Boromir sighed; he’d caught some glimpses of what his two young hobbits did to each other and for that matter what they’d offered to do to him, and he had no doubt they could turn their various talents on a member of the opposite sex if they wished to.

“Women have stories of their own,” Aragorn said absently.

“Do they,” Boromir said, keeping his voice casual.

Aragorn exhaled smoke before replying. “Of course. You don’t think they talk about things like that? About what sorts of things their soldier husbands get up to when they’re far from their wives?”

Boromir, being a soldier, bristled at this and scowled at Aragorn.

“And what of Rangers who roam around in the woods together and don’t have wives?”

“Rangers take their pleasure where and when they can,” Aragorn answered, with a hint of a smile. “But we’re often alone. You don’t think women can guess at what sorts of things soldiers do to … ease the tension?”

“I have better things to do than listen to women’s gossip and stories,” Boromir muttered.

“Of course you do,” a voice said behind them, and both turned to see Legolas setting down the firewood he’d been off collecting. The wiry archer could carry a remarkable amount of weight without disturbing even one of his neat golden braids, to Boromir’s endless annoyance.

“I suspect you elves don’t even care if you’re bedding males or females,” Boromir grumbled. “I’m not sure how you tell the difference. They’re all equally pretty.”

Legolas smiled. “Boromir, if you’d been alive for a few thousand years, you’d have realized that one would be foolish to limit one’s experiences only to those offered by females. It seems the little ones have figured that out and are off in the woods having a lovely time while you two sit here and discuss things.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow again. “Are you suggesting we ought to be entertaining each other, or entertaining you?”

Boromir snorted, surprised, but the elf just grinned.

“Neither of those options sound unappealing,” Legolas noted, “but one would be significantly less beneficial for me.”

“Bugger off, elf,” Boromir said sharply.

Legolas shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Boromir. Is it so difficult to image the things our Ranger’s hands could do?”

Boromir growled. He’d been trying quite hard to keep images like that out of his head and no part of this evening’s discussion was helping with that, including the lack of disgust or disapproval in Aragorn’s voice. He tried to think of some of the beautiful and agreeable girls at home who were always willing to assist the future Steward with any needs he might have, but when he tried to imagine their delicate hands stroking him, the picture kept turning into one of Aragorn’s long, calloused fingers wrapping around him like they would wrap around the hilt of a sword, his grip rough and demanding.

“Don’t mind him,” Aragorn said, watching the elf go.

“Are they all… like that?”

“To one degree or another,” Aragorn said. “Elves aren’t possessive of their lovers, and they’ve got an immortal lifetime to fill, and they know that at some point most males will feel at least some desire for one of their own.”

“Will they,” Boromir said, his voice rougher than he wanted it to be.

Aragorn grinned. “Perhaps we’ll put an end to this conversation before Merry and Pippin get back. We’ll be giving them ideas and the gods know they don’t need any more encouragement.”

Boromir agreed heartily and went to sit by himself, watching the two younger hobbits emerge from the woods, arm in arm, disheveled and laughing.

“Ho, Boromir!” Pippin called, as they came over to him. “How are you?”

“Not as well as you, little ones,” he said, chuckling as he plucked a leaf from Merry’s hair.

“I do believe we did offer to assist you with that,” Merry said.

“Aye, you did,” he agreed, grinning. “But I couldn’t imagine doing such things with you two little creatures.”

“Then you’re not being nearly imaginative enough,” Pippin protested. “I know we’re lads, but I can tell you there isn’t a lass in the Shire who can do half the things Merry can do with his mouth…”

“Pippin!” Boromir exclaimed.

“Like you’ve had a chance to try out the mouths of all the lasses in the Shire,” Merry snorted at Pippin.

“Tell me then,” Boromir said. “Do the other hobbits approve of these… activities?”

“They don’t approve of anything we do,” Pippin said cheerfully. “But as far as those sorts of things, it’s considered rather naughty and very improper, but so are lots of other things, and people do them all the time. It annoys the elders and we’d catch hell for it if we were caught in the act, but not too much worse than if we were caught stealing vegetables or our parents’ wine.”

“Besides,” Merry said. “Everyone knows it’s just Pippin and I. We’ve always been together and we always will be, so they’re rather resigned to it. Some day they’ll expect us to get married, and probably we will, but we’ll still be at it, and then it’ll just be our wives scolding us instead of the elders.”

Boromir glanced toward the fire and noticed Legolas watching them with amusement. No doubt the damned creature with his extraordinary hearing had overheard everything the hobbits had said. Aragorn caught him glaring at the elf and gave him a puzzled look.   



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir

  


Title: With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 2)  
Author: RubyElf  
Pairing: A/B  
Rating: probably NC-17  
Summary: A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir  
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. Tolkien would be appalled. 

 

 As the hobbits settled down to sleep, Gimli took the first watch, after arguing with Legolas that even if elves didn’t need to sleep he should do so anyway and give the rest of the party a respite from his company.

“I think I’ll go set a trap and see if we can have a rabbit for breakfast,” Aragorn said.

Boromir had been unrolling his blankets, but stopped when Gimli said, “You shouldn’t be going off alone.”

“No, perhaps not,” Aragorn said.

Realizing it was only proper, Boromir stood up. “You can show me how to set a trap, Ranger. I’ve never bothered with such small game but it seems all we’re likely to get around here.”

The two men walked under the trees in silence for a while, until Aragorn chose a spot for his trap and crouched down to set it. Boromir had to crouch next to him to see how he arranged it.

“I learned how to make snare traps from other Rangers,” Aragorn said quietly. “Elves don’t use traps for game; their ears are so keen they can hear a rabbit breathing.”

“Or hear a mouse shitting, no doubt,” Boromir grumbled. “Elves. Too fine to breathe or eat or sleep like the rest of us.”

“They have needs,” Aragorn said, glancing at him.

“Oh, aye. Dancing on rainbows or some such thing.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. But if you don’t want to discuss it…”

Boromir straightened up, feeling challenged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Aragorn stood too. “I only meant that… it’s never been a concern of mine who my friends choose for their partners, and…”

Boromir tensed, confused and waiting for Aragorn to go on.

“I just meant that it’s understandable to seek companionship on such a grim journey, and, well… if you desire Legolas, none of us would…”

Boromir’s mouth fell open.

_“What?”_

Aragorn put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’m quite certain he would return your interest…”

_“Legolas?”_ Boromir repeated, wide-eyed, and burst out in roaring laughter.

Aragorn stared at him, puzzled and a bit offended. “Well, I thought…”

“That fussy, arrogant creature?” Boromir gasped, trying to regain his breath. “Are you quite mad? What would I want with such a ridiculous pretty thing?”

“I’m sorry, Boromir. I just… the conversation earlier…”

Boromir could see the other man’s blush even in the darkness, and he remembered Aragorn’s words about seeking companionship.

“You understood my thoughts right, my friend, but not their direction,” he said carefully. “There is one on this journey who I think might give me comfort and contentment, but it’d certainly not that obnoxious elf.”

“Ahh,” Aragorn said, smiling. “I’ve heard the suggestions our little ones make to you…”

“You dim-witted idiot of a Ranger!” Boromir exclaimed, frustrated, and without thinking took a step forward, putting his face close enough to feel Aragorn’s breath. “I have no desire for elves or hobbits, and don’t even mention dwarves.”

The man’s gray eyes widened, and Boromir heard his breath catch in his throat. For a moment, he feared that Aragorn might turn and walk away from him, but then he saw the hesitant, hopeful expression on the other man’s face. He could taste the pipe smoke and sweat and leather rising from the Ranger’s skin.

“You can’t mean that you… desire me.”

“Why not?” Boromir asked, frowning.

Aragorn lowered his eyes. “I’m not… I don’t see how you could…”

Boromir lost patience and grasped Aragorn’s shoulders hard.

“Yes, I desire you. Now, you must tell me. Shall I stop talking and go back to camp and forget we spoke of this?”

“Please don’t,” Aragorn said quietly.

His hands rose, found Boromir’s arms, stroked up until they rested on Boromir’s shoulders, his thumbs hesitantly rubbing over the rough stubble just beneath the other man’s jaw, feeling Boromir swallow hard. Then Boromir pulled Aragorn closer and their mouths came together, more forcefully than Boromir had intended as Aragorn’s hands grasped the back of his neck and claimed the kiss with an abrupt, demanding need. Boromir was startled by the contrast of rough, prickling beard and the softness of the lips that pressed hard against his.

“Well,” Aragorn whispered against his mouth. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“Stop talking,” Boromir chuckled, his hands sliding up to tangle in the other man’s dark hair. “There’s been more than enough of that.”

Bodies pulled close, Boromir realized that Aragorn had to be aware of him rapidly hardening against the Ranger’s hip. Before he could step back, though, Aragorn pressed forward, his own erection pressing into Boromir’s thigh. Boromir could not hold back a gasp, and Aragorn groaned softly.

“I’ve wanted this, Boromir…”

“I’ve wanted it too,” Boromir murmured. “There’s so much I want…”

Aragorn’s eyes widened, darkened. “Yes. What do you want?”

Boromir reached up, grasped Aragorn’s wrist, led his hand down, and shuddered as he pressed Aragorn’s palm over the tight bulge in his breeches. Aragorn inhaled sharply, and his fingers curled, stroking, feeling, curious and eager. Boromir let his face rest on Aragorn’s shoulder, his low moan for Aragorn’s ears alone.

“Please,” Aragorn murmured, one hand talking Boromir’s and guiding it, the other tangling in the ties of the other man’s breeches.

Boromir’s hand stroked over the smooth leather covering Aragorn’s hardness, then froze as Aragorn impatiently tugged his breeches open and reached in, the coolness of his hand meeting the heat of Boromir’s shaft and making them both gasp.

“Yes,” Boromir whispered, breathless, as the hand began to wrap around him, fingers flicking over the head. He felt Aragorn’s hips jerk involuntarily into his palm, and he groaned and yanked harder at the leather belt, until Aragorn laughed and moved his free hand to open it. Boromir wasted no time in tugging the other man’s breeches down to his hips, both of them crying out as Aragorn thrust into Boromir’s hand at the same time his grasp on Boromir tightened almost painfully.

“Oh, yes,” Boromir gasped. It was that rough, demanding grasp he’d dreamed of.

The two men came to rest, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. Boromir’s free hand gripped Aragorn’s upper arm tightly, and Aragorn’s clutched Boromir’s hip, steadying him. Their hands on each other stroked, grasped, hard and fast, drawing gasping cries.

“Quiet,” Boromir hissed. “The elf… will hear…”

“Fuck… the elf,” Aragorn gasped. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop…”

His words lost coherence, rose in a sharp cry, as he thrust hard into Boromir’s hand, trembling with his release. Boromir claimed his open mouth in a violent kiss, and he reached down, grasped Aragorn’s hand on his own shaft, and gripped it hard, far harder than Aragorn would have dared.

“Aragorn,” he muttered, voice strained.

“Yes?”

“Say it again.”

“Say what?”

Boromir laughed breathlessly. “Say ‘fuck’ again.”

Aragorn’s smile widened, and he squeezed hard, drawing a low groan.

“Fuck? Is that what you would do to me, Boromir? Have you dreamed of fucking me?”

Boromir tried to answer, but his voice trailed into a rising moan as his release covered their joined hands.

They stood for a moment, silent, their breathing ragged. Finally, Boromir raised his head to kiss Aragorn again, now lazy and warm.

“Have you, Boromir?”

“Have I what?”

“Dreamed of fucking me.”

Boromir laughed. “I thought I told you… yes, I have dreamed of that.”

Aragorn grinned. “Perhaps…”

“Not now. Not like this.”

Aragorn’s face fell.

“That can wait until we have time to ourselves, Aragorn,” he said, kissing him again. “Not now, when we’re likely to have a handful of hobbits and a bored elf showing up wanting to make it a party.”

“We’ll be quiet,” Aragorn said, smiling.

“We will not,” Boromir said, in mock indignation. “I have no intention of leaving you with the ability to be quiet. We’ll reach Lothlorien by tomorrow evening if we move quickly, and we should… there will be orcs on our trail.”

“Lothlorien… more elves,” Aragorn chuckled. “At least we can be sure they’ll keep Legolas occupied, and there will be enough food to keep the hobbits busy for days.”

“Exactly,” Boromir said. “I don’t want to have to worry about the others. There are many things I wish to do to you… with you…”

Aragorn’s breath caught. “Yes.”

“I won’t have my plans interrupted by curious hobbits or randy elves. Or irritable dwarves for that matter.”

Aragorn smiled. “You know he heard us.”

Boromir scowled. “Legolas?”

“That elf can hear clouds.”

“Hmmph. More reason to find a time when we won’t be disturbed. Damned elves.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Can’t believe you though I wanted to… ugh! An elf!”

Aragorn laughed. “Put yourself back together. We should get back.”

Gimli gruffly acknowledged their return and ignored them as they unrolled their blankets and stretched out to sleep. Boromir was surprised how quickly his eyes grew heavy; he felt warmer and more content than he had in a long time.

“Boromir.”

The whisper was Pippin’s.

“Yes, little one.”

“You smell like pipeweed.”

“Hmm.”

“And sex.”

“Pippin!” Boromir hissed.

“Pippin,” Merry scolded.

“Well, he does.”

“Shut up, Pip. Let’s go back to sleep.”

“But…”

“Pip, don’t be jealous,” Merry said.

“Hmmph,” the younger hobbit muttered.

“No worries, little Pippin. I’m sure Merry can cheer you up.”

“Indeed,” Merry said brightly, and Pippin squeaked and then gasped, and Boromir smiled and rolled over and fell asleep.


	3. With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir

Title: With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 3)  
Author: RubyElf  
Pairing: A/B  
Rating: probably NC-17  
Summary: A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir  
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. Tolkien would be appalled.

 

 

Boromir woke in the morning with the smell of meat cooking and Merry and Pippin just starting to stir.

“Aragorn’s trap got us a nice rabbit,” Gimli said, nodding at the fire, where Sam was carefully tending the cooking food.

“And where is our talented Ranger this morning?” Legolas asked, perched on a rock as he meticulously pulled each of his arrows out of his quiver and checked them.

“Off looking for herbs of some sort,” the dwarf said. “Said he saw some last night that aren’t common in other places and thought he’d grab some.”

Boromir’s mind flashed to an image of Aragorn among the trees, looking up at him from where he was crouched over a patch of herbs; he imagined himself knocking the other man onto his back and pinning him against the rough ground, seeing the stunned look on Aragorn’s face, the way the clear gray eyes widened and the breath caught in his throat, the gasp as Boromir buried his face into the curve where neck joined to shoulder…

“Boromir?” Legolas asked curiously.

“Hmmph,” he grunted, annoyed.

“Did you hear me?”

“I try to avoid it.”

“I said that perhaps you ought to go and fetch him and tell him to come back before the hobbits eat all the food.”

“We’ll go!” Merry said brightly.

Gimli snorted. “Aye, so we can all wait while you and Pippin have your morning entertainment, eh? No thanks.”

“Maybe you should go, elf,” Boromir muttered.

“I’m busy,” Legolas said evenly, his blue eyes impossible to read.

Boromir stood and stormed off toward the woods. The damned elf was probably trying to get him to fool around with Aragorn so he could catch them in the act. He wasn’t even sure how to find Aragorn; the Ranger moved with an elf’s stealth and silence, and left no sign of where he’d been.

It didn’t occur to Boromir that his stomping and muttering would certainly make it easy for the Ranger to find him; at least, not until a dark shadow slid across his peripheral vision and an instant later he found himself slammed hard against a tree, knocking all the air from his lungs. Out of instinct, he grabbed forcefully at the arms pinning his shoulders, but then he recognized the lean, familiar face grinning at him.

“What the hell…” he grunted.

“Hello, Boromir.”

The flash in Aragorn’s eyes was amusement mixed with something hungry and eager.

“I thought you were out here looking for herbs.”

“I was. So what are you doing here?”

“The others sent me to find you. Sam is cooking up your rabbit.”

“I’m sure they’ll save us some,” Aragorn said, and before Boromir could protest he leaned in and kissed him hard, crushing their bodies together so forcefully that Boromir could feel the tree bark through his layers of clothing. He was startled by how briskly and readily his body responded to the onslaught, and bit his lip hard when Aragorn’s thigh came up between his legs and rubbed firmly against him, at the same time driving his own growing hardness against Boromir.

“They’re likely to come looking for us,” Boromir protested, making no effort to disengage himself.

“I’d hear them,” Aragorn said, his words muffled against Boromir’s neck.

“Not while you’re distracted.”

“You think you’re that distracting?” Aragorn asked, biting just hard enough to make Boromir jump.

“I’m working on it,” Boromir said, grinding his thigh against Aragorn.

“Mmmm… that is distracting,” Aragorn agreed.

His hand slid down, reaching for the buckle that held Boromir’s long tunic closed. Suddenly, he froze and stepped back.

“Damnit.”

“What?”

“Hobbits.”

“Maybe they’ll get distracted.”

“No, it’s the other hobbits.”

“Damnit.”

“Mr. Strider?” Sam’s voice called. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Shit,” Aragorn muttered, looking at his groin. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

“Just imagine explaining it to Sam and Frodo.”

Aragorn groaned. “Ugh… well, that’s done it.”

Boromir chuckled, and the two stood for a moment, letting their breathing steady and their blood return to more appropriate locations.

“We’ll be in Lothlorien by tonight,” Aragorn murmured.

“Yes, and probably expected to attend all sorts of meetings and ceremonies,” Boromir muttered.

“Oh, no. I think the party will be much too tired for that. They’ll just have to give us a place to rest and do their welcoming in the morning.”

“There you are!” Frodo exclaimed, coming toward them. “We thought something had happened to you.”

“Nothing happened,” Boromir grumbled. “Thanks to you two.”

“What?” Frodo asked.

“He just means that it’s good you two came along. We’d lost track of time. Shall we get back?”

“Yes,” Sam said eagerly. “We’re not allowed to eat until everyone is there.”

The two hobbits hurried back toward camp. The two men glanced at each other, and Boromir growled low in his throat.

“You’d better not be changing your mind once we get to Lothlorien.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Aragorn said. “But I might make you do something for me, too.”

“And what would that be?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Bastard.”

The day’s travel was hard and tiring, over rough terrain of hard-packed earth and rocky slopes. Aragorn pushed them hard, wanting the party within the safety of Lothlorien’s borders before night fell; the orcs that had probably found their trail by now would have a tremendous fighting advantage in the dark. Boromir distracted himself by walking at the end of the line and imagining all the things he could do to try to make Aragorn say “fuck” again. He’d heard his men talk and joke about things men did to each other, but hadn’t had much time to put his knowledge to the test, and wouldn’t have thought it proper to engage in such activities with any of his men, not as their leader. He was not Aragorn’s leader, though; in truth it was Aragorn who had the right to command him.

“Boromir,” a small voice said, interrupting his musings.

“Yes, little Pippin?”

The two young hobbits had fallen back to walk on either side of him, and both were grinning broadly.

“I’m sorry for pouting last night,” Pippin said.

“Think nothing of it, little one.”

“Merry said I ought to expect you’d want someone your own size.”

Boromir scowled. “Hush.”

“Don’t worry,” Merry said. “Legolas has gotten bored and gone running ahead to scout. He’s probably a mile away.”

“And can probably hear us from a mile away. Besides, perhaps I just don’t want to talk about such things, Merry.”

“A shame,” Merry said. “If there’s anything two lads can do with each other that Pip and I haven’t found out about yet…”

Boromir sighed. “Why must we discuss this?”

“Well,” Merry said, in his most sensible tone. “You wouldn’t want Aragorn to think you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Because he certainly does,” Pippin added.

“Oh?” Boromir asked.

“Well, he was raised by elves,” Pippin observed knowingly. “Frodo showed us some books he found in Rivendell…”

“Seems elves have certain coming-of-age rituals,” Merry said, grinning.

“We actually got a few new ideas,” Pippin said brightly, “But it seems elves are more flexible than hobbits…”

“Pippin!” Boromir exclaimed, failing at his attempts to remain unfazed by this line of conversation. “That is entirely enough.”

The three walked in silence for a while before Pippin glanced slyly at Merry.

“Just imagine finally getting a chance to be alone with someone you want to have a bit of fun with, and them finding out you’ve no idea what you’re doing!”

“Terribly embarrassing,” Merry agreed thoughtfully.

Boromir snorted. “Don’t be silly.”

“Oh, so the first time you were with a girl, you knew exactly what to do, right?”

Boromir winced. His first few encounters with members of the opposite sex had been rather awkward, involving much fumbling and groping.

“Come on, Boromir. Surely you could use some advice,” Merry offered.

Boromir inwardly cursed the persistence and ruthlessness of hobbits.

“We can make sure…” Pippin began.

“Enough!” Boromir exclaimed, loudly enough to make Aragorn glance back at them curiously. In a lower voice, he said, “I’ve told you two, I’m not…”

They laughed merrily.

“Boromir, we know you don’t want to play with us,” Pippin said.

Merry nodded. “We merely meant that we could give you some suggestions to make certain you and our Ranger enjoy yourselves.”

“And what makes you think I have any intention of engaging in such activities?” Boromir asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pippin said frankly. “We’re small, not dense. You’ve been lusting after him since we met you in Rivendell.”

“And he’s just as bad,” Merry added. “You two don’t look at each other the way you do for no reason.”

Boromir scowled, but could not argue.

“So,” Pippin said, “Are you going to go into this letting Aragorn have an unfair advantage?”

Boromir knew a challenge when he heard one, and he had never been one to back down from a challenge, even when common sense suggested he should.

“You two are terrible,” he sighed.

Merry beamed. “Well, let us fall back a bit so we won’t be overheard, and let the lesson begin.”

In the next few hours, Boromir learned a number of things that made his face turn very red, and several things that made his jaw drop. The hobbits chatted on as if they were discussing gardening or some other perfectly ordinary activity.

“I’m telling you, Merry jumps right out of his skin if you…”

“Oh, and Pip can’t bear it when you…”

“And you’ll just want to give a good pinch…”

“And do a bit of this with your fingers…”

“And the first time or two, it’ll work better if…”

Finally Boromir threw up his hands. “No more! Or I’ll never be able to look at you two again without blushing.”

Merry chuckled and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small, corked glass vial, which he pressed into Boromir’s hand.

“What is this?”

“Something to… make things go smoothly.”

Boromir’s eyes widened. “I don’t…”

“Don’t worry,” Pippin said cheerfully. “We’ve got lots.”

“You,” Boromir said, grinning, “are filthy little creatures.”

“I would have to agree,” Merry said.

The sun was low in the sky when Legolas came running back to tell them that Lothlorien was very close. Soon after his return, the tall, elegant trees of the Golden Wood came into view. Eager for food and rest and safety, the party hurried forward. Legolas had run ahead again and arrived before them, and they found him negotiating with the ill-tempered Marchwarden Haldir. Boromir could not understand the argument as the elves spoke in their own tongue, but eventually Legolas and the Marchwarden went off into the woods, leaving the tired party under the guard of the Marchwarden’s equally arrogant brothers. Darkness was falling when the pair returned, Haldir looking as if he’d eaten something sour and Legolas smiling.

“I’m to take you to one of our guest shelters,” the Marchwarden said impatiently. “They are within the safety of our borders, but you will not be disturbed there. I shall arrange for some food to be sent to you, and in the morning you will be directed to a bath and some proper clothes before you go before my Lord and Lady.”

Boromir bristled at the dismissive tone, but decided that punching the Marchwarden would probably be unwise and would certainly cause enough trouble to make sure he had no chance of trying to sneak away with Aragorn, so he kept silent.

The guest shelter Haldir offered them was a small clearing with three neatly built lean-to’s constructed between the trees, all facing into the center of the clearing. They were just high enough for a man to sit upright under the angled roof, and the floors were soft forest earth piled with blankets. Haldir lit a torch at the front of each lean-to before departing with a snort of disapproval.

“What an unpleasant creature,” Boromir muttered.

“Seems he’s a very important person, Mr. Boromir,” Sam said.

“I don’t care if he’s the bloody king of the elves. He’s still an arrogant…”

“Boromir,” Aragorn said, in a warning tone. “Elves have very good ears.”

Boromir sulked, but he didn’t have time to brood for long, because three elves soon came into the clearing carrying skins of water and wine and baskets of fruit and bread and cheese. Boromir’s stomach reminded him he had not eaten anything since breakfast, and he had to admit that with each bite of the excellent meal provided to them, his overall opinion of elves in general began to improve considerably.

“They feed guests well, apparently,” he observed. “But I don’t know about the lodgings.”

“It’s only for tonight,” Legolas said. “After our audience with the Lord and Lady we’ll be given proper accommodations.”

“This looks splendid to me,” Pippin said.

“Yes, and one’s just the right size for four hobbits,” Aragorn said.

“Put the dwarf by himself,” Legolas said, “or his snoring will keep everyone awake. I’ve no intention of sleeping tonight, and I have some old friends to visit. I’m sure the two men can tolerate sharing for the night.”

Boromir glanced at the elf and wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or infuriated when Legolas gave him a knowing smile before vanishing among the trees.

The two men sat on the grass and watched as the four hobbits piled into one of the shelters together, with only a few muffled complaints and arguments before all four were snoring contentedly. Gimli’s louder rumble soon joined them.

“Suppose we shouldn’t be wandering off,” Aragorn said.

“The little ones are safe here,” Boromir said.

“True. But the elves might take offense at…”

“Wouldn’t worry about that,” Legolas said, detaching himself from the shadows under the trees. “Elves are quite discreet about such things. The Lady has assured me she will make sure the dwarf and the little ones sleep peacefully tonight… she intended do the same for you two, but I suggested that you two needed other things more than sleep at the moment, and she agreed.”

Boromir flushed bright red. “You mean the Lady knows what…”

“Boromir, the Lady Galadriel can read the hearts and minds of all who enter her domain,” Legolas said. “There are no secrets from her. Trust me… she knows things about me that I would rather she not share with anyone.”

With that, he turned and was gone among the trees again. Before Boromir could think of a suitable response, Aragorn laughed and stood up.

“Damned elf,” Boromir growled, letting Aragorn offer a hand and pull him to his feet. Aragorn merely smiled, and without a word turned and began walking into the dark forest. Boromir hurried to catch him, and they walked quickly and quietly until they had left the light of the torches far behind.

“Is this far enough?” Boromir asked.

“Depends. Do you intend to keep quiet?”

Boromir laughed and shoved him. “Keep walking.”


	4. With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir

  
Title: With a Little Help from My Friends (Part 4)  
Author: RubyElf   
Pairing: A/B  
Rating: probably NC-17  
Summary: A couple of "helpful" hobbits engineer some run-ins between Aragorn and Boromir  
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. Tolkien would be appalled.   
  
This is the last of the story. Hopefully it's not too long. Didn't want to break it up.

 

They came to a small, mossy clearing with a patch of clear, starry sky overhead, and by unspoken agreement stopped and turned to each other. Neither one move, both suddenly hesitant after all their talk.   
  
“This is a bit silly,” Aragorn said, smiling.   
  
“Aye,” Boromir agreed, still feeling uneasy and strange.  
  
“Hmm. Would it help if I started talking about you wanting to have your way with Legolas again?”  
  
“Bastard,” Boromir laughed, all his unease falling away as he pulled Aragorn toward him and kissed him, feeling Aragorn grinning into the kiss.   
  
“Remember this morning?” Boromir asked.   
  
“Yes…”  
  
“My turn.”  
  
He pushed Aragorn hard, slamming him backwards into the nearest tree, leaving him breathless. The sight of him gasping for breath, eyes wide and dark, arching against Boromir’s grip, brought Boromir to instant hardness. Aragorn felt it, and reached up to knot his fingers in Boromir’s blond hair. Boromir’s hand descended, tugged at buckles, and then slipped in, drawing a ragged gasp as his cool hand wrapped around heated skin.   
  
“Please,” Aragorn breathed.   
  
Boromir tugged at Aragorn’s shirt, exposing soft skin just below his collarbone, found it with his teeth, and bit hard. Aragorn cried out, but his protest was unintelligible and his hands made no effort to pull Boromir away. He bit again, this time more gently, and felt Aragorn’s hands stroking his shoulders and back.   
  
“Boromir…”  
  
He laughed, straightened up. Aragorn’s scent filled his thoughts and he leaned in to lick at the skin under his jaw with a broad swipe of his tongue. Aragorn pushed himself up from the tree and gently pushed Boromir back a few steps. Before Boromir could argue, Aragorn was no longer in front of his face, and deft fingers and teeth were pulling the laces from his breeches.  
  
“What… Aragorn…”  
  
The warm breath of Aragorn’s laughter sent sharp twitches through his suddenly exposed skin.   
  
“You don’t want this?”  
  
“Of course I want this, you bastard!”  
  
Aragorn chuckled, and then Boromir gasped and closed his eyes as the other man’s warm mouth slid over him, taking him in as his hands came up to grip Boromir’s thighs. Boromir groaned and felt his hips jerk forward.  
  
“Easy,” Aragorn murmured, stroking gently. “Or this will be over much too soon.”  
  
Boromir tried desperately to obey, but Aragorn reclaimed him with his mouth, hands running over his thighs, brushing the sack between them. With each breath he slid further, taking in more. Boromir felt the tension building, irresistible, felt the muscles of his legs tighten painfully under Aragorn’s hands. He tried to step back, but Aragorn grasped him and jerked him forward, driving him hard into Aragorn’s mouth and drawing a startled shout as his release came sudden and hard and shockingly powerful. When Aragorn let him go, he sank back against a tree and slid down, resting his head against the bark as his head spun. Dimly, he heard Aragorn chuckling as he leaned over him, still on his knees. When Boromir managed to open his eyes, he found Aragorn’s clear gray gaze fixed on his, bright and amused and hungry.   
  
“Well?”  
  
“I… mmm….”  
  
“Was that an attempt to communicate?” Aragorn asked, brushing the blond hair out of his face affectionately.   
  
“Bastard.”  
  
“There, see. You can talk.”  
  
Boromir glared at him Aragorn grinned, but his grin changed to a startled expression when Boromir launched off the tree and slammed him back onto the ground.  
  
“What…” he protested, reaching up to grab Boromir’s arms, but the larger man laughed and, gripping his wrists, forced his hands down to his sides. Aragorn looked up at him, bemused.   
  
“Very well, then. Now what?”  
  
“You think I don’t know what to do?”  
  
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”  
  
“Shall we find out?” Boromir said, smiling broadly.   
  
“Oh, yes. Let’s.”  
  
Boromir made quick work of the Ranger’s clothes while Aragorn laid back calmly and watched the proceedings with some amusement. Boromir tossed the last of Aragorn’s clothes aside and pushed his shoulders back against the ground, then planted one hand firmly in the middle of his chest to hold him down while his other hand fumbled with his own clothes.   
  
“Having trouble?” Aragorn asked innocently.   
  
Boromir growled, muttered a few curses, and released him so he could put both hands to the task. Eventually he managed to remove most of his own clothes and looked to find Aragorn laughing at him.   
  
“You wear a lot of clothes. It’s rather inconvenient.”  
  
Boromir rolled his full weight onto the other man, turning his laugh to a breathless grunt of surprise. Both men closed their eyes for a moment, stunned into silence and overwhelmed by the feeling of naked bodies pressed together, chest, stomach, and foreheads, legs tangled, skin twitching with excitement. Aragorn thrust his hips up against Boromir, drawing simultaneous groans from both of them. Boromir fought the urge to drive himself relentlessly against Aragorn, and instead sat up, straddling Aragorn’s hips to stop their motion.   
  
“Now what?” Aragorn asked, frowning.   
  
“That feels… entirely too good.”  
  
“And that’s a problem?”  
  
“I told you, there are other things I want…”  
  
“Well, then,” Aragorn said, grinning, “you’d best get on with it.”  
  
“Fine,” Boromir said.   
  
The combination of excitement and frustration made him pinch Aragorn’s nipples rather more sharply than he’d intended, but the cry it drew was not one of protest, and Aragorn arched beautifully against his hands, and Boromir chuckled, thinking that perhaps listening to hobbits could occasionally provide some useful information after all. He lowered his mouth to Aragorn’s chest and grasped a nipple between his teeth, increasing the force of the bite as Aragorn again arched up to him with a rising cry, his shaft jerking against Boromir, until Boromir feared he would draw blood and released him. Aragorn’s chest rose with uneven gasps.  
  
“Does that please you?” Boromir asked, suddenly hesitant.   
  
“Yes. Do it again.”  
  
“Very well,” he agreed, smiling. “You asked for it.”  
  
He claimed the other nipple even more fiercely, then made his way down Aragorn’s body, biting and nipping hard as the Ranger’s lean body twisted beneath him. He sank his teeth hard into a soft place he’d discovered on Aragorn’s side just above the hipbone. Aragorn gasped so sharply that Boromir drew back, fearing he’d harmed him.  
  
“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”  
  
“Yes,” Aragorn said breathlessly, his hands finding Boromir’s head and guiding him back to the reddened skin.  
  
“Yes to which one?”  
  
“Both,”  
  
“A woman would have run away screaming after that one,” Boromir said, admiring the rapidly darkening bruise before pressing his face into the softness he’d just discovered at the joining between hip and thigh.  
  
“We’re warriors, Boromir. Pain reminds us we’re alive.”  
  
“True,” Boromir said, inhaling deeply the warmth and smell of the man beneath him. “But I would not ever wish to harm you.”  
  
“You won’t harm me. I’m not a girl. If I wanted gentle hands on me tonight, there are plenty of lovely elf-maidens curious about the bodies of mortals. I would choose you, my fellow warrior, over any of them.”  
  
Something in his words made Boromir tremble, and he slid up and caught Aragorn’s head in his hands and kissed him, long and deeply and with such fire that it left them both gasping.  
  
“Aragorn,” he whispered.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I want… please. Let me….”  
  
Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat. “I want that too.”  
  
Boromir was briefly grateful for his small companions’ lessons as he groped for the little bottle of oil and poured some into his hand. Aragorn watched him with gray eyes darkened nearly to black, propped up on his elbows, waiting.   
  
As Boromir slid his oiled hands over the insides of Aragorn’s thighs, the possibility occurred to him that the hobbits had been playing a terrible prank on him and were off in the trees somewhere waiting for him to do something dreadful and foolish that would shame him terribly in front of Aragorn at this most intimate of moments. Aragorn’s hips lifted into his grasp, though, so he took a deep breath, slid his hand down, pressed a finger against the opening he found there, felt the tightly clenched resistance, and pressed gently, steadily, until the muscles eased and allowed him in. He recalled his instructions and waited, not moving any further than the tightening body would allow, until finally his knuckles met Aragorn’s skin and Boromir let out the breath he’d been holding, and Aragorn was moving against his hand. Liberally pouring more oil, he slid a second finger in, carefully, but meeting little resistance, and Aragorn was breathing hard, head tossed back. Boromir drew his fingers back, slid them in again, and again, seeking the place he’d been told of. He knew he’d found it when Aragorn suddenly arched sharply off the ground with an incoherent cry, hands grasping at Boromir’s arms.   
  
Boromir grinned, his hobbits had not let him down.   
  
“And you thought I didn’t know what I was doing,” he said, repeating the motion.   
  
“Didn’t… say that,” Aragorn protested breathlessly.  
  
“No, but that’s what you were thinking.”  
  
“Didn’t… think it… either.”  
  
“Are you arguing with me?”  
  
Aragorn smiled slightly. “What… will you do… if I am?”  
  
“This,” Boromir said, crooking his fingers as he pressed them further.   
  
Aragorn’s fingers clenched around Boromir’s arms in a bruising grip. “Ahh… then I’m definitely… arguing with you.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Boromir asked triumphantly.   
  
“Quite sure,” Aragorn said, and Boromir caught the flash in the other man’s eyes an instant before Aragorn tightened his legs around him with surprising strength and deftly rolled them both, coming to rest stretched out on top of Boromir, each of the larger man’s wrists caught in a steel-hard swordsman’s grasp. Boromir twisted, but Aragorn had learned to grapple with his elven foster brothers, who were stronger, quicker, and more agile than most mortals, and he rode out Boromir’s escape attempts with a broad smile.  
  
“Can’t let you do all the work.”  
  
“I don’t see why not,” Boromir sulked.   
  
“Because,” Aragorn said, shifting his hips to bring them into searing, intimate contact, “if we do this, I will not have it be about status or rank or title. If we survive this journey, my fate is to be placed on the throne, and all will look at me as the king. I would have you, my Steward and more than that, as the one man who will still treat me as the man I am right now.”  
  
Boromir looked up at him, stunned and struggling to think of an appropriate response, but Aragorn saved him the trouble by kissing him hard, pressing him back into the soft earth, his hands full of Boromir’s blond hair, Boromir’s arms coming up to embrace him as he returned the kiss, thinking dazedly that he had not expected such warmth and passion, nor the strange tenderness that seemed to disarm his thoughts and pull him down until he knew nothing but joined skin and mouths and the curve of Aragorn’s back beneath his broad palms.   
  
Aragorn did not release the kiss as he slid sideways, still holding Boromir with a left draped over him and a hand under his head, knotted gently but firmly in his hair, a soft warning for him to lay as he was and not move. Boromir allowed it, this token restraint; with a single motion he could have thrown Aragorn across the clearing and it was the surprising gentleness that held him, more than any physical force ever could have. Aragorn trailed kisses over his jaw, licked the sweaty skin of his neck, bit his shoulder softly, and Boromir was so hypnotized by the other man’s caresses that he entirely lost track of what Aragorn’s free hand was up to until it reached, slick and smooth, to wrap around his shaft. The contact was so unexpected that it drew a sharp cry as Boromir convulsed into the sudden grasp, fearing for a moment that he would lose control at that moment if Aragorn only moved his hand.   
  
Aragorn, though, simply held him in his grasp as he moved to bring their mouths together again, and then the hand was moving, sliding down, spreading oil as his fingers searched. For a moment Boromir panicked, tensing and pulling away, but Aragorn’s hand tightened possessively in his hair and the kiss became demanding, claiming. Boromir stilled, trembling and uncertain.   
  
“Easy,” Aragorn whispered, his voice rough and intimate in Boromir’s ear. “I will never harm you.”  
  
“This is not…”  
  
“Not what you expected?” Aragorn asked, kissing his face. “You’re not afraid. You fear nothing.”  
  
“I fear you,” Boromir whispered helplessly.   
  
Aragorn’s gray eyes met his, wide and startled. “Why?”  
  
Boromir could not speak, but he was certain Aragorn could read the answer in his eyes: because I’m falling, farther and deeper than I knew was possible, because you own me with a word, with a kiss, because I can deny you nothing, not here and now, perhaps never again, because I am yours, irretrievably, irresistibly, beyond redemption.   
  
Aragorn smiled gently, knowingly, and kissed him again.   
  
“I am already yours, Boromir. Let me make you mine.”  
  
Boromir could not manage words, but all the tension and resistance left him with a breath, and he closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation of falling.   
  
One of Aragorn’s hands still tangled in Boromir’s hair, moving to brush over his face and stroke his cheek. The other slid further, and then a finger was pressing gently, easing for a moment at the tensing of uncertain muscles, waiting for Boromir to yield before pressing forward. Boromir felt burning, tensed again, but Aragorn kissed him and bit his lip, and his leg over Boromir slid up, rubbing his strong thigh against Boromir’s shaft, until he decided that the burning discomfort was irrelevant and shifted his hips, all resistance fading, and Aragorn smiled into the kiss. Somehow, feeling that smile against his mouth was the final push in disarming him entirely, and the second finger joined the first smoothly, and then Boromir was gasping at the blinding white pleasure that flared over him, shouting an exclamation that in no way resembled a word. Aragorn chuckled softly, holding Boromir’s hips down with his leg as he moved his hand again, knowing where to go now, relentless.  
  
“Aragorn… can’t stand this anymore…”  
  
The fingers were gone, and Aragorn’s hand released his hair, and then both of his hands were under Boromir’s hips, lifting, and before Boromir had time to think about what was coming Aragorn pushed forward, entering, and Boromir’s muscles clamped down violently. Both men breathed hard for a moment, both very still.   
  
“Boromir?” Aragorn asked.   
  
Boromir exhaled slowly. “Not… as bad as I thought it would be.”  
  
Aragorn felt him begin to relax, and he pressed forward, sliding smoothly and thinking that wherever Boromir had gotten his oil it was wonderfully slick and frictionless, and Boromir’s hands were gripping him tightly, and their hips came together, and Aragorn leaned in to kiss him again, warm, reassuring.   
  
“And now?” he asked softly.   
  
Boromir nodded breathlessly, and he tentatively shifted his hips, gasping at the rush of sensations.   
  
“You’ve done nothing to harm me, Aragorn.”  
  
Aragorn set a slow pace, steady slides in and out, and Boromir could feel the other man’s eyes reading every shift of his features. The burning faded and blurred into a shivering pleasure, and something he did not have a name for but knew he desperately needed. Aragorn, though, knew, though, and he straightened up, braced his knees, and thrust hard, finding what he sought and making Boromir shout incoherently and raise his hips to meet the next thrust. Aragorn’s hand came up, still slick, and closed around him. Boromir cried out, his voice hoarse, and Aragorn remembered the day before and gripped him hard, pulling roughly, and he knew it was good from the way Boromir’s entire body arched off the ground, shuddering violently. He thrust harder, matching it with a hard, relentless hand, and Boromir gasped and clenched his fists into the grass as his release exploded through him, blinding, dizzying, convulsing through every muscle and nerve in his body, and he could only groan wordlessly and clutch at Aragorn, who allowed himself now to drive in hard once more and find his own breathless, surging release.   
  
For long moments neither man moved. Then Aragorn withdrew, rolled to the side, returned to his position with one leg over Boromir, one hand slipping beneath his head as he leaned in for a kiss, his other arm now draped warmly over Boromir’s broad chest. Boromir lifted his head into the kiss. Both pairs of lips were warm, swollen, bruised. Boromir was helpless against the need and passion and tenderness of the kiss. He opened his eyes, finally, and found Aragorn’s clear gray ones watching him, a gentle smile on his face, knowing as well as Boromir what had passed between them.   
  
“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked quietly.   
  
“No,” Boromir murmured.   
  
“I would never do you harm.”  
  
“I fear you have.”  
  
Aragorn frowned, concerned. “What have I done?”  
  
“You have made me belong to you.”  
  
Aragorn smiled warmly and kissed his rough cheek. “Ahh, but in exchange, I belong to you. Is that not fair, Boromir?”  
  
Boromir could not help but return the smile; Aragorn’s eyes were so bright and happy.   
  
“I suppose it is fair. But we’re not quite even yet.”  
  
Aragorn laughed. “I promise you will have an opportunity to settle that score.”  
  
“I hope… there will be many such opportunities,” Boromir said quietly.   
  
“Indeed… there will be so many that we will both lose track of whose turn it is.”  
  
Boromir turned his head to capture Aragorn’s willing mouth. They lay for a while in companionable silence, until finally Aragorn spoke.   
  
“The forest isn’t so warm when one has no clothes on.”  
  
Boromir stretched lazily. “Perhaps you would be warmer if I were to lay on top of you.”  
  
“We can test that another night,” Aragorn chuckled. “We should get back. The little ones will worry.”  
  
“Oh, I highly doubt that.”  
  
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “Why?”  
  
“Well, let’s just say they’re likely to have guessed exactly what we’ve been up to.”  
  
“Hobbits,” Aragorn sighed. Then his eyes widened, and he reached out and grabbed the now-empty glass bottle. “This is… did you ask them…”  
  
“Since when does anyone have to ask Merry and Pippin anything? They’re the most shameless creatures imaginable.”  
  
Aragorn tossed the bottle aside, laughing. “I’m sure they insisted upon making some suggestions, then.”  
  
Boromir snorted. “I hardly require advice from hobbits…”  
  
His words failed him as Aragorn reached into his clothes and withdrew a little corked vial of oil, exactly like the one he’d just tossed away, except that this one was still full.  
  
“Filthy little monsters,” Boromir murmured, half appalled and half in awe.  
  
“You have no idea,” Aragorn said, grinning. “They’ve engineered this whole thing from beginning to end.”  
  
“Why do you say that?”  
  
“Because it was those two creatures who came to me and told me, very solemnly, that you greatly desired our elven archer but feared the disapproval of your future king, and suggested I find a way to bring it up in conversation that I would not frown upon such an involvement.”  
  
Boromir’s mouth hung open. “They knew you’d take me off alone to talk about it...”  
  
“They read our desires truly enough, for with their meddling we did manage to… clear up some confusions between us.”  
  
“Which they created,” Boromir groaned. “And just to move things along, they decided to prod and worry me by telling me that I would… be at a disadvantage.”  
  
“Really?” Aragorn laughed.   
  
“They spoke of some books in Rivendell on elven coming-of-age ceremonies…”  
  
Aragorn laughed even harder. “Oh, dear. Elves have no such ceremonies. But don’t be ashamed… the little ones came to me and warned me that you were a soldier and knew far more than I did about such things…”  
  
Now Boromir was laughing too, and soon both of them had tears of mirth running down their cheeks.   
  
“Deceitful, manipulative, evil little things!” Boromir chuckled.   
  
“I would never have thought it of hobbits.”  
  
“Apparently hobbits are filthy-minded little creatures.”  
  
“Perhaps it’s just those two,” Aragorn said, wiping his eyes.   
  
“I’ll drop them headfirst into the next pond I see,” Boromir said.   
  
“Ahh,” Aragorn said, burying his face in Boromir’s neck and moving his hand from the broad chest to a more intimate caress over the exposed stomach. “But we do owe them for this, do we not?”  
  
Boromir rolled and wrapped the other man in his arms, kissing him, and Aragorn returned the kiss happily, stroking Boromir’s hair.   
  
“I suppose I can forgive them,” Boromir sighed, pulling Aragorn as close as he could manage to get two bodies to be.   
  
Aragorn’s eyes widened and he glanced down, eyebrows raising. “Again? Don’t you ever tire, man?”  
  
Boromir growled. “I’ve waited a long time for this. I have much frustration left to be released.”  
  
Aragorn smiled. “I am not as young as you, but it seems your enthusiasm is contagious.”  
  
“And the hobbits did so kindly supply us with another bottle of oil…”  
  
When the two men finally made their way back to the others, both exhausted and warm and contented and slightly sore in various places, they were met by blissful snoring from the hobbits, noisy rumbles from the dwarf, and no sign of Legolas anywhere. They unrolled their blankets under the roof of the shelter.  
  
“Rather small in here,” Boromir noted.   
  
“Yes, it is. I’m afraid we shall have to sleep rather close.”  
  
Boromir fell almost immediately into a warm, hazy fog, aware of nothing but Aragorn’s chest against his back, Aragorn’s hair brushing his neck, Aragorn’s hand under the blankets resting on his hip.  
  
“That bloody elf will have something to say about this in the morning,” he muttered.   
  
Aragorn laughed against his shoulder. “Fuck the elf.”  
  
A moment of silence, but Boromir was not resting, and Aragorn could feel it.   
  
“Boromir?”  
  
“Aragorn…” he murmured, uncertain.   
  
“Yes,” Aragorn whispered, kissing his neck. “Always.”  
  
With that, the last trace of fear was gone, and Boromir allowed sleep to claim him, allowed Aragorn to embrace him and pull him close and guard his dreams as closely as he now guarded his heart.

  



End file.
